When one can’t swim, can’t dive, conned into an island with 10 others and wonders amount of alcohol (a bottle of : Gin, Tequila, Jagermeister, Vodka and Single Malt Whisky; tonnes of beer and soju) available, the trip becomes pretty trippy. Seeking luck with black-tipped sharks, bright life jackets, long awaited meals and bottomless fruit juice, banana pancakes with ice cream and hot Hershey sauce, lame jokes, sweet joints with the Korean and German instructors, reggae music blasting from the dive centre, flirting with the local boatmen, toasting my soon to get skin cancer, marvelous imitation of the superheroes by David.

Sand, Sea, Sun, Soul and Sex

Toasting tequila shots for a new friendship.

The graduation bong for all plus a shot of any desired liquor. Note: nonnegotiable.

Tamara, the founder of the flicking finger jolly torturing tiny Ee Phin

I swear she personally like to be flicked by the boys.

Revenge is pretty sweet when the girls flicked their instructor.

No flicking allowed, do the squats.

Me and the ChiBai. When cat jumps on me, you are not supposed to laugh out loud. And laughing out louder when I am crying ain’t funny at all. Karma hits hard.

I’m not a beach boy, he says.

Day One : Why is the sky blue? *it is not a tricky question*

Wei Ling says, “To get reception: stand under the sun, dip your leg in the water and wait”. That’s how my back has three different shades of brown.
Ruby says, “I think your vodka gave me tummy ache”. Who drinks vodka and get bad tummy?

The wonders of photoshop.
David, Ruby, Eric, myself, Joe, Jeff, Ee Phin, Diana, Monita, Wei Ling, Alvin, Eugene (L-R)

Current song playing: What do You Want from Me by Adam Lambert
It messed me up
Need a second to breathe
Just keep coming around

Being invisible, strutting light moves. I lift the veil of pretentious mind and consume the air of clarity.

Sudden decision to drop by a familiar neighbourhood pub for a quick thirst relief on a Sunday afternoon explains the lucidity of my condition. The Sunday heart-to-heart talk over perfect pints of Guinness cleared the air of masked reality. I explained myself, my desire to be a mother, the perfect plan of my death, how the 2 years of attraction ruined my morality. I sympathize his story of  infamous business and walk of life. Two years of friendship, I learned you all over on Sunday Stout Session. Over dinner, I shared my new found theory of marriage and relationship. I’ve changed. Minimal expectations, pouring happiness on my own pace, leaving no desire to program a favourite channel or the perfect person.

Reality is always intoxicating.

A step into a drop of alcohol, I supplied joy.
A step away from a bottle of poison, I conform lust.

Days passed, weeks passed, months passed;
I passed the test of sobriety.
Being named alcoholic; offended.
Pouring poison, passing glasses, I deny teases from friends.
Strangers pinned formula of mixture shots and labelled me,

ALCOHOLIC.

Perfect. Social bullies.

Last night was a blank.

Friday night in a new club opening. The touch of his hips, he spun me in that tight space. My girls giggled, I admire his puppy eyes and pretty sight of his drunk sloppy look. Anticipating for more drinks, it’s been weeks since I got sloshed. I wanted payback. Wonders of phones, Internet and the world, I was convinced he lied. A cozier neighbourhood pub, I became another ordinary working adult. We sat and spoke about work, politics and social media with beer and cards game. Adjourned to a hostile club, drowning on vodka and pineapple juice. I held my head high, my four inches heels intact, my summer dress to kill eyes, I drowned in temporary solution.

Waking up with no panties, retracing last night’s fame, I won. I got my payback. Drunk and safe.

Dumbfound.

Noises.

I never knew your existence equals to extreme profoundness.
The amount of ‘you’ stored in my blunt soul multiples every moment I sip.
I seek for liquid of fascination that slaps my inner soul.
Penetration of soaking liquid in my own fascination speaks of my brutal scars.
I prefer solitary at nights.
Isolation and fascination grasps my hair follicles and splits them into pieces.
I experienced out-of-body rush, like a drug addict injecting heroin in his big fat vein.
My drive to break and blame the whole world’s miseries failed.
Pitiful stares, horror whispers, shattered words.
I prefer consuming my unfortunate fluid and sleeping without sheets.

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Current song playing : Officially Missing You by Tamia
Ooh, can’t nobody do it like you
Said every little thing you do
Hey baby say it stays on my mind
And I, I’m officially..

Sundays prance my heart.

We might kiss when we are alone, when nobody’s watching.

I fought with myself. My feelings and my brain just refused to make up. 7 and 1/2 pints of Stout on a Sunday afternoon with StarWars Bon. A casual two person drinking on a Sunday afternoon turned to a party of 20. A drunk dial, my heart running back to him. Another drunk dial, “I miss you”, he said. Probably I should start drunk dialing too. I will call you and tell you how much damage you’ve caused.

Last night ended with a kiss, two drunk dials.